


lonely rivers flow to the sea

by babyboylouis



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Artist Harry, Insecure Louis, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Miracles, Painter Harry, Sad Louis, Soulmates, Suicidal Thoughts, i dont even know what this is....?, kind of, like literally i have no idea this is so out of my nature wtf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 09:28:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5580301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babyboylouis/pseuds/babyboylouis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>harry is an artist, louis is (unknowingly) his muse, and it's destiny, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lonely rivers flow to the sea

**Author's Note:**

> hiiiiiiii everyone
> 
> um okay so i really have no idea what this is like i saw a prompt somewhere and kind of changed it up a bit...? it's a tiny lil baby drabble that was done at 2 am and is unbeta'd (though idk why i'd have to get a beta for a drabble oops)
> 
> pls bear with me and feel free to give good/bad feedback
> 
> title from elvis presley's 'unchained melody', which is mentioned in here somewhere!!

A pair of azure eyes, a light dusting of freckles, and a strong jaw have been haunting Harry’s dreams for weeks.

 

He has no recollection of ever coming across someone with those features in his life. It’s scary, really, how vividly he dreams of this exact face every night.

 

The muse for his most recent painting is just that, too. An unfinished portrait of the face that inhabits his mind. He had primarily thought that if he were to paint the slope of the muse’s nose just right, and varnish every last eyelash, the thoughts would disappear.

 

Instead, it’s been weeks, and the unfinished portrait that sits inside his small art studio in London calls his name, beckons him, every time he his unoccupied.

 

Harry is waiting on a miracle to get this face out of his head. After another few weeks of the same madness, he stops believing in them. 

 

-

 

There are people who visit his studio, sometimes.

 

Rich stick-in-the-muds who offer Harry a thousand quid for a sketch of his, just because they can afford it. He supposes he should be honoured -- and he is, truly, just. The people who visit his studio simply admire his work; those are his favourites.

 

There are some people here today, too, Harry notices as he sits in the back and finishes up another scenic.

 

Usually it is quiet, save for Harry’s music he sometimes plays to keep himself sane.

 

Today, though. Today there was a gasp.

 

As soon as Harry hears it, he is looking up. From where he is in the back of the room, he cannot see the source of the noise. But he stands, and walks closer.

 

He sees azure.

 

He sees a firm jaw, and, from what he can tell, freckles.

 

He sees the golden skin and wispy hair he has painted in oil; the thin, shapely lips that are the colour of a sunset in Sedona.

 

He sees it all at once, and the muse sees him, too.

 

“Who...who are you?” Harry asks. His voice is shaky, and dry, like the paint hiding in the crevices of his fingertips.

 

The muse smiles. His eyes are alight and cheeky. Harry’s portrait of him does not even begin to compare to the liveliness he holds in real life.

 

“I’m Louis,” He answers simply, as if Harry should’ve already known. It must seem that way, Harry reckons. He’s painted a _portrait_ of this man.

 

“I...have we met?” Harry asks, desperate for answers. His chest feels tight, yet a tonne has been lifted off his back.

 

“I don’t believe so. This is a gorgeous painting.” Louis says, eyes flickering back to the frame he holds in his lithe fingers. Harry can only nod.

 

It is gorgeous, of course it is. Because _Louis_ is gorgeous.

 

He is young, but there are crinkles beside his eyes that tell a million stories of laughter. There is scruffiness to his cheeks, a blush hiding beneath. His eyebrows are arched, his lips quirked. He looks like hilarity personified, and Harry is stunned into silence.

 

Louis giggles nervously. Harry lights up. Suddenly, he can’t close his mouth.

 

“I’ve...I’ve dreamt about your face for months. Your eyes, they...they’ve kept me up all night, at times. I’ve sketched and re-sketched your earlobes until I could get them exactly how they were in my head, I…” The more Harry spoke, the more ridiculous he knew he sounded. “I don’t know where you came from, or how you got in my head, but you’re _beautiful_.”

 

Everything was quiet for a moment. _Unchained Melody_ played softly in the background.

 

“No one has ever said that to me before.” Louis said. He’s got tears in his eyes, now, and Harry would like to hate it, because Louis is supposed to be happy.

 

But he can’t hate it -- not when Louis is just as fascinating crying as he is smiling or laughing.

 

“You deserve someone to tell you that every day.” Harry admits. He knows he’s gone too far. Surely he has to have had by now. Louis was probably incredibly freaked out by the fact that a stranger drew every last detail of his face, up to the slight unevenness of his teeth, and is just too polite to say anything about it.

 

Instead of looking at Harry oddly like he half-expected Louis to, Louis pinches the bridge of his nose, lips pressed together, and starts to sob. Harry holds him.

 

-

 

Later, after they’ve both gotten over the initial shock of the situation, Harry takes Louis down the street for tea to discuss what's going on.

 

Louis opens up. He tells him that…

 

That if he hadn’t seen that portrait, or met Harry, he was going to take his own life that evening.

 

He had the pills, had the mindset, had the will.

 

He told Harry with shaking hands and ruddy cheeks that his mum was the only one who had spoken with him voluntarily, and she’d died months before in a tragedy.

 

He said that “No one has ever looked at me like you looked at me when we saw each other”, and that he has never met someone who thought he was remotely good looking. 

 

In return, Harry told Louis how, if he'd let him, he'd tell Louis every single day just how much brightness he brings into the world, because that's what he deserves.

 

Finally, Louis said that he had a feeling they were meant to meet each other, and that it was a miracle they had done so.

 

Harry believed him.

**Author's Note:**

> thoughts??? :~)


End file.
